


The nights were made to say the things you can’t say tomorrow day

by KaisaSegher



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward First Times, Cunnilingus, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Past Rape, Masturbation, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, R plus L equals J, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-12 03:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaisaSegher/pseuds/KaisaSegher
Summary: After the Dragon Queen conquered the Seven Kingdoms and Jon learnt about his true parentage he marries Sansa Stark to protect her. Their marriage is loveless, and they are terribly unhappy. But the walls in the castle are thin and Sansa decides to take matters in her own hands.





	The nights were made to say the things you can’t say tomorrow day

**Author's Note:**

> So I needed to write some trash because I'm bored from so much uni work. Hope you enjoy, but it's trashy mactrashy trash, so don't expect too much. Downright awful. Oh, and I needed them to be awkward as hell because why not? So anyway, hope you enjoy as much as you can.  
> I got the idea from Do I Wanna Know, by the Arctic Monkeys, so the tittle felt fitting.

She tossed and turned under the furs, sleep eluding her yet another night.

Sansa sat up and leaned against the headboard, staring at the flames on the other side of the room. She was not sure what she hoped to find there. She recalled the Red Woman saying she could see things in the fire, things of the past, of the present or of the future.

Sansa could not say which of the three frightened her the most.

She raised her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hiding her face between the pleats of her shift. Neither the fire nor the hot water running in the pipes nor every fur atop her trembling body would be enough to warm her that night.

Why was she so restless, though?

She was safe, she was home again. Truly at home, not that twisted farce the Boltons had conducted at Winterfell. That time was long gone, every trace of it erased and scraped and burnt from every stone in the castle.

She too had to get rid of those marks herself. The ones the beast had left on her body had begun to fade away already. There were others scars, however, on her mind, on her very soul, that would take some more time. And effort. But Sansa would wash them away from her just as well.

They had tried to break her, but yet she had survived them all. Joffrey, Cersei, Ramsay. Even Littlefinger.

She was safe. She was home. She was with Jon.

Her brother. Her cousin. Her king.

Her husband.

The word still felt heavy and yet so hollow on her throat. How had they ended up like that? From being like two strangers growing up, to a brother and sister relying on each other to rebuild what little they had left, to partners and confidents that had shared different and yet so similar feelings of betrayal and abandon.

To husband and wife and two strangers again.

Sansa got up from her bed and reached for the jug of water the serving girl had left on the small table right next to the window. Perhaps she just needed a cup of water and then she would be able to sleep like a babe. She parted the curtains, admiring the flickering golden lights of the torches all around the courtyard.

There were flames everywhere and yet she could see nothing. She could not see why it had to be this way for them.

She doubted even the Red Woman could find an answer to that. Not all the fires in this world, not even those of one of the dragons they said had raided King’s Landing half a year ago, would be enough to bring some light on that matter.

_I will protect you._

She had been harsh to him when he had said those words. Not because she thought them hollow and vain. Not because she thought Jon was just a silly young boy who knew nothing of the horrors of men. Those words had hurt her more than any insult and curse and lie that monster had sent her way. More than all the awful things the worm had done to her.

No, those words had hurt her because she almost… _Almost_ had believed them.

Her brother had been cruel enough to make her hope again. To make her believe there was still kindness on this world. And she would have hated him forever for that.

But the sun had rose and set, the days had gone colder and colder until she had to wear more than three layers of clothing apart from her cloak every time she went for a walk on the castle grounds. The moon had grown and shrunk in the night sky and a new queen had landed on the coast. A queen that had been more than glad to hear that her nephew was now King in the North and declared both kingdoms as brothers and equals, and Jon her own heir.

Jon had married Sansa shortly afterwards. The Dragon Queen had already suggested it on every letter she had sent ever since she had seized the Iron Throne for herself and had Cersei executed.

Jon had kept it from Sansa, though. He finally told her about the letters a couple of days before he had to leave for King’s Landing and leave her alone with Littlefinger still lurking around. Jon had said he had never agreed because he wanted his sister - _his cousin_ , Sansa had correct him - to be free to do as she wished. To stay by his side as Lady of Winterfell and as the only family he had left, to marry some of the those gallant knights she had dreamt so much about as a child, to take some bard as her lover, to leave and see the world. Anything, anything she wished for.

Her heart had sank in her chest, hurt that he had kept that information from her. King he might be, but if not for her support he would have nothing. Had she not renounced the claim of Eddard Stark’s line on Winterfell he would have nothing. Nothing, when he was just a bastard - even though the lords had wished to forsake that - and not even from the right Stark. Lyanna hardly had any claim on her father’s hold, let alone her bastard son.

Then again, she had not told him about the Knights of the Vale. Perhaps that had been her punishment for that.

But Jon had had to leave, and not even Littlefinger would be so bold as to bother the wife of a king who was heir to the Dragon Queen herself. So her cousin had asked her to marry him. She was to be his wife in name only, and Jon would set her free as soon as she asked him to.

And for that to be possible he had not touched her.

Sansa knew she had to be happy with that arrangement. Being married to Jon gave her more freedom than she had ever had in her whole life. But those titles - husband and wife - had torn them apart from each other. Surely enough, they kept the façade when there was someone around. Sansa rested her hand on his arm when they walked together and Jon let his hand drift to the small of her back when he let her pass in front of him.

That was it, though.

She sighed, closing the curtains and hiding under her furs again.

_I will protect you._

While Jon had been away in the south Sansa thought her heart would collapse under itself. She had felt utterly abandoned. Completely alone. Sure, she had had her maids soaring around her all day, telling gossips and chatting mercilessly about how handsome the new blacksmith was or how fat the cook was getting lately. But she had missed the quiet moments she spent on her solar with Jon, sharing their meals, talking about their kingdom or simply reading a book in silence. Sansa did not have to pretend to be someone else when she was with him, and that had been like a balm to her soul.

Littlefinger had tried to poison her ears against her husband, insinuating that perhaps he was hiding between some southern whore’s legs while he was away. Maybe a girl from one of his own brothels, perhaps. Sansa had dismissed the thought from her head almost as soon as his mouth had formed the words. Even if it was true, who was she to care? Jon was not her husband. Not really.

_I will protect you._

When Jon had come back home after almost two moons away he had found her in the crypts with Littlefinger whispering terrible speculations in her ear again. Jon did not love her, not like he did. Jon had just married her for her tittle and her family name, not like he would have done. Jon did not admire her and treasure her like a husband should a wife. After all, why had not Jon taken her with him to King’s Landing? Was he embarrassed of her? Or did he need some privacy to taste every southern cunt he could reach? After all, he was king, now. No woman would say no to a king. No woman could say no to a king.

He had. He certainly had protected her.

She could not quite remember the details, but the last thing she remembered about Littlefinger was his slender throat with Jon’s strong hands wrapped firmly around it. Jon had told her later that day, while they dined peacefully on their solar, that he had sent the snake away to the Vale, although he had spoken to his aunt while at King’s Landing about how Littlefinger had conspired against her.

She had not received more than a short nod when Jon had seen her for the first time after being away and that somehow had angered her.

Half a moon after that, a letter from the queen herself had arrived, announcing Petyr Baelish had been executed for treason that very morning. Sansa could not hold a smile of pure joy, and Jon had held her against him for the first time since they had said their vows before the heart tree, and had kissed her hair and promised he would always protect her.

But after that they had gone back to being strangers.

As soon as they broke their fast, the next day, Sansa would tell him she wanted to be free from their marriage. Jon needed another wife, someone he cared for. Someone who was not broken beyond repair as she was. Someone that would bear his children and give an heir to the North and the South and reunite the kingdoms after such a short independence.

Her eyes stung.

Sansa wrapped her arms around herself and brought her knees to her chin, hiding under the furs again.

She did not fall asleep, though.

Through the wall she could hear someone grunting. Sansa tried to ignore the sound, certain it was nothing of importance. She pulled the furs to her ears and closed her eyes shut, emptying her head to try to avoid more nightmares.

Another low growl, similar to that of a wild beast. Perhaps it was Ghost, hunting outside. Nothing to worry about. She took a deep breath and tried to count to a hundred, as one of her ladies had suggested to help her sleep.

No, that was not Ghost, and that had certainly not been a hunting noise. That had clearly been what could only be described as a moan. Quite a long moan, to be fair.

Did Jon…?

Her blood boiled in her veins and her ears were about to combust. Oh, the nerve of him! She was his wife, by all the gods, and only a thin wall separated their chambers. Had he no respect for her?

Sansa kicked the covers off and reached for her robe in a haste, her long braid wiping her back as she run through the room. She would tell him a thing or two, that she would! If Jon wanted to take another woman to his bed the least he could do was wait to do so when his wife was not trying to get some sleep on the chamber right next to his.

She froze, her hand on her doorknob.

Silence. Absolute silence.

Whatever Jon was doing was certainly over by now.

However, when she tried to open the door, she found her feet stuck to the ground.

What was she doing? Her husband he might be, but theirs was not a true marriage. Certainly not a match for love. If Jon had taken a mistress Sansa only had the right to complain about the fact that they were being too loud. _He_ was being too loud, to be fair. She was certain those noises had been too low to be uttered by a woman. Unless…

Sansa blushed furiously as she finally decided against confronting Jon. She suspected she would feel mortified enough to find him with a woman in bed, but she was starting to think that perhaps Jon preferred another sort of company. After all, she had never seen him direct more than a polite smile at the ladies or servant girls sighing for his attention. He seldom danced at the feasts. And as a boy he never accompanied Theon and Robb to Wintertown.

She threw her robe to the chair next to the fire and almost jumped to bed again.

Gods, if she had found another man on her husband’s bed she would have been mortified.

* * *

She had hardly slept that night, and the next day she could barely look at Jon’s face, let alone say anything to him

If - and only if - her husband had such… Inclinations? Well, a man loving another man seemed quite natural to her. Two people in love with each other could hardly have anything wicked to it. Wicked had been what that vile creature had done to her. To Theon. To his servants. To his own kin. That was wicked and evil and terribly twisted.

Jon with another man? Hardly so.

Although that was the sort of thing people usually frowned upon. Even more in a king.

She tried to find the right words to tell him she would stay by his side, no matter what. That she would not say a word about it and let him go on as he wished. His wife by his side would surely distract any prying eyes.

But those words never came to her. Not while she was sewing, concealing her blush from her maids behind the curtain of hair that had fallen from her shoulders. Not while they were dining alone in their solar, Jon absently chewing a piece of bread in his usual frowning self.

No, if he wanted to, he would tell her. She was no one to try to fish such an important subject from his lips. Sansa finally decided to leave him alone when they said their goodnights, Jon pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Something warm washed through her, perhaps because she was missing so much that someone cared for her.

And Jon did. Sansa knew he did, even though they did not talk much lately.

Her eyelids were feeling heavier than ever, and Sansa was starting to believe she would get her first good night’s sleep in almost a year when she heard someone panting softly on the other side of the wall.

She covered her ears with the pillow, screwing her eyes shut. Gods, was it something he did every night and she had never noticed before?

Sansa tried to think of something else, as the definitely male grunts grew louder. The new dress she was sewing. The delicious lemoncake she had had that afternoon with her maids. Her maids gossiping about the new blacksmith and how strong his arms looked. One of them had suggested he could certainly hold a woman against the wall while he made her his.

A moan. That had clearly been Jon’s. She had heard him make almost the same noise when someone hit him during sword-training in the courtyard.

Jon had strong arms, too. Gentle, but strong. They suited him well.

There was something hot gathering on her lower belly. Something weird and strange pulsing and pooling between her legs.

Sansa rubbed her thighs together, trying to think of something else. A walk on the godswood yesterday, with Ghost throttling happily by her side. The bedsheets one of her maids was embroidering. Something else. Something that did not remind her of him.

But Jon groaning on the other side of the wall made her want something she did not know she needed. She turned on her stomach, looking at the canopy of her bed. That had been lady Catelyn’s bed, and she would be furious if she found out what her precious daughter was about to do.

Sansa herself was still fighting against the shame when her hand wrapped around the hem of her shift and pulled it up to her stomach. Images of Jon biting his lip, just like when he tried to concentrate on his opponent, with his curls stuck to his forehead and his eyes half-hidden by his dark lashes filled her mind. Sansa’s lean fingers trailed the path from her belly button to the edge of her smallclothes, Jon’s muffled grunts giving her the courage she needed as she closed her eyes and dreamt he was there, with her.

He might have someone else on his bed, but he was her husband and she could at least use his voice and her memories of him to fuel her own pleasure.

Sansa had never touched herself before. Ladies did not do that sort of thing. And she had wished to have nothing to do with that sort of thing anymore. It had only brought her pain, in the past. But now there was an ache, a terrible twinge under her smallclothes, one she did not know how exactly she could quench herself.

Another moan. This time her fingers touched her folds tentatively through the fabric of her smallclothes. She felt them damp under her touch, as she moved her hand up and down, shivering at the sensation. She imagined those were Jon’s long fingers, more experienced than hers judging by what she was hearing.

But somehow that was still not enough.

Biting her lip, Sansa slid her hand inside her smallclothes, she was yet to decide in search of what exactly. She was slick and sticky and she was sure she should be disgusted. But when she found some sort of fleshy button that had sent a jolt of pleasure through her body she could not feel shame anymore.

She pulled the pillow to her face, muffling her cries as she rubbed her cunt again and again, her hips rolling against her own touch. Jon was panting faster now, and something was building inside of her, something that could only be described as good. Her wrist was hurting, constricted by the fabric of her smallclothes, so she pulled them to her ankles and opened her legs as much as she could.

With just a couple more strokes hot waves of pleasure rippled through her body, forcing her to arch her back as her muscles contracted around her fingers. Sansa could not hear Jon anymore. She could not hear anything, even if she wanted. Even if someone was shouting in her ear she would not hear it.

She did not know how long had passed since she came down from her peak, finally being able to pull away her shaking hand. She stood still for what felt like an eternity, her smallclothes at her ankles, her legs still wide open, looking at the canopy but not really seeing it.

On the other side of the wall everything was quiet. Perhaps they had fallen asleep.

Sansa pulled her smallclothes up and crawled out of bed, still panting. Her legs were somewhat shaky, and she almost dragged herself to the small basin on the other side of the room. She washed her hands and then brought them to her face, then her neck and finally her chest. She felt so hot, so feverish, as if someone had sent fire through the pipes.

She dozed off as soon as her head hit the pillow. For the first time after she had arrived at Winterfell she did not have her nightmares for company.

* * *

The next day had been another matter entirely.

Sansa could not bring herself to look at Jon’s face and she had loathed herself for what she had done.

Had they broken her that much, after all? Was she so wretched that she had done such a filthy thing while thinking about a man that had been her brother?

 _Half_ -brother.

Husband.

Jon was her husband. She was allowed to have improper thoughts about her husband, was she not?

Sansa lifted her eyes, looking at him on the other side of the table, scribbling something on a piece of paper, his lower lip trapped between his teeth as his curls fell to his grey eyes.

Gods, was he handsome! How she wished those were her teeth on his lip.

Sansa blushed furiously, her fingers toying with her cup, making it spin from one of her hands to the other as she desperately tried to focus on something else.

Spending the afternoon with him had been a terrible mistake. She would be more than glad to hear about that new blacksmith now. His thick black hair and his thick black beard. His bright blue eyes. His wide smile, one that made her lady’s maids weak in the knees and blab about it all week.

Jon had not smiled to her in quite some time, now that she thought about it.

Perhaps if Sansa had not been ruined beyond repair she would tattle with her maids. After all, the southerner was quite a man, built like an ox with a terribly handsome and masculine face. An excellent craftsmen as well, and that had been what had earned his place at Winterfell. His swords, shields and beams were much sturdier than those of the others who had presented themselves to the King in the North.

But they had done dreadful things to her. They had twisted and beaten and broken her until she looked nothing like her former self. And because of that her thoughts had not left her alone, even though her eyes were deliberately averting Jon. She could still picture his full mouth covering her legs with wet kisses, his strong hand squeezing her breasts as her moans filled the castle.

“What are you writing?” she asked him, wishing that if she was busy talking and thinking about what to say her thoughts could not drift away.

“A letter.”

Sansa almost threw her cup at him.

She breathed in and decided to rest her hands on her lap instead.

“To whom?” Sansa tried again.

“Queen Daenerys.”

Her heart sank in her chest.

There had been a time… There had been a time, not too long ago, when they had spoken freely and easily about anything. And now he could not even tell her about a simple letter with more than a couple of blunt answers.

Jon was tired of her. What man would not, after all? Joffrey, that monster… All of them had grown tired of her, and they at least drew some sort of amusement from tormenting her.

Jon was not like them. Jon could not be furthest away from them. Jon was a good man, and a broken girl sulking around him could not possibly entertain him.

It had to be annoying, to say the least.

“Jon, can you not talk to me?” It had sounded more like a plea than she had intended to.

He took a long breath and closed his eyes.

“I just did not wish to worry you. That is all.”

Sansa leaned over the table and curled her cold fingers around his wrist.

His skin was so warm. And soft. She had almost forgotten how it felt. _Almost_.

Jon froze, his dark grey eyes widening as he looked at her hand, then at her. Sansa’s mouth went dry.

What was she doing?

“Jon” she tried again, her voice soft. “Jon, you _have_ to worry me. I am your wife-“

“You are not” he cut, though his free hand covered the one she had on his wrist. She could swear that, for a heartbeat, his fingers caressed hers.

“What am I, then?” Sansa asked, and she found herself unable to move. She kept her voice low. “A broken winged bird you just found freezing outside and feel too guilty to leave behind?”

“The queen says the North needs an heir” he blurted out, his eyes on the table again.

Sansa’s blood rose to her ears. She took her hand away from him, as if it burned, and leaned back on her chair.

“Well, we have to talk about it then. I mean, if you wish to take another as your wife I would not oppose, of course. You are a good man, Jon, and you are the King, I doubt you will have trouble finding-”

“Sansa.”

She gulped.

Jon hid his hands under the table and shrunk into himself.

“I… I do not wish to take another...” he stuttered. “I don’t want another wife.”

Sansa gulped again. Why? Why would he not want another woman? He was King, he could have anyone he wanted. Some sweet, light-hearted, untainted girl. Someone that brought an alliance to the table. Surely the Queen of Thornes still had a granddaughter somewhere. And that Flint girl - what was she called? She had seemed kind and pretty enough. Perhaps even-

“I won’t- I cannot leave you unprotected, Sansa. I owe our lord father that much” he explained, one of his fingers following the lines on the wood of the table, as if the answers to his problems might be found there.

Out of duty. Of course.

Something hot was coiling in her throat and she was unable to hold herself any longer.

“You owe nothing to _my_ father. He raised you as his son because he loved your mother. And he loved you” she spat. “ _You_ , Jon. Ned Stark loved you, even if his wife or I myself could not.”

She could hear the blood ringing in her ears and her heart pounding in her chest.

That had been cruel, however necessary.

Still, Jon remained silent.

“Your aunt is more than right, but if you are so daft to reach the same conclusion all by yourself, and since you are always so keen to do your duty, let me tell that if you do not take another wife then I will accept the fact that I have to do mine.”

Sansa gathered her skirts, her face scalding hot as she stood up. Why on earth had she said that? She needed to go, now. She could not be left in the same room as Jon. Ever again.

“Sansa, please” he begged, and it was his turn to grab her wrist. “I would never ask you- Look, there is no need for that.”

He put the letter in her hand, a sad look clouding his eyes.

“I am going to name you my heir” Jon said, not waiting for her to read it. “I took your birth right from you, I hope my death sets things right again.”

Her mouth went dry again, and words fled from her.

“Your children, with whomever you chose, shall inherit the North. I will set you free once you find someone you like. Someone you love” he continued. “I will not say this last bit to her, though. If you are my heir and I am your husband I hope she thinks your children will be my children, at least for now.”

That had certainly been his thumb running over the back of her hand.

“I am also telling her that Arya and Bran might still be alive and that I intend to declare them next in line after you and you descendants.” He paused, breathing in again, his gaze fixed on her belly for some unknown reason. Sansa stood there, looking at the letter without truly seeing it, Jon’s black curls right under her nose distracting her from the ink on the paper. “So, as you can see, I have no use for another wife.”

Jon simply did not wish to be sold into marriage like she had been. King he might be, but he had a duty to his people, and an unmarried king would not do. As long as they stayed together they could avoid any unwanted suitor.

Perhaps Jon was not so daft after all.

“Please do not ever keep this sort of things from me, your grace” she demanded, almost spiting the tittle as she gave the letter back to him and walked to the door. “You may remember me as a silly little girl, but I think I deserve a little more credit than what you give me.”

“I do not think of you as a silly little girl, Sansa” he argued, his back to her as he sat back on his chair. “You did more for Winterfell and the North than I could ever had done. You are my partner, to say the least.”

“Then start treating me as such” she said, almost running to the hallway as tears filled her eyes.

* * *

That night the feel of Jon’s gentle fingers on her skin had fuelled Sansa’s lust, even though everything was silent on the other side of the wall. She peaked with her fingers rubbing her nub and a silent cry of his name on her mind.

And the next night.

And the night after that one.

Sometimes Sansa could hear him pleasuring himself, and somewhere along the way she had decided he was alone too. However, she was not sure if it was because she had never heard anyone else’s voice, or because Jon was so honourable that he would never take a lover while married to her, or because the thought of him with another did not suit her fantasies.

Every time she cleaned herself afterwards she felt less and less guilty about using her brother- her husband- to sate her hunger, even though during the day she avoided looking at him, recalling all the filthy things she had imagining him doing to her in the night.

_You are my partner._

They had been partners, had they not? In the beginning, at least, when they had a battle to plan, a family to avenge, a brother to mourn, a country to rebuild. But after that what? After they had said their vows before the heart tree what had become of them?

At least after Sansa had confronted him Jon had been a little more pleasant towards her. He told her little things about his day, how bored he had felt when yet another lord had demanded an audience for yet another half a dozen miles of stolen land by yet another neighbour, how someone had told him the crops were growing well, how sweet the apple pie they had brought him that morning was. He told her more important things just as well. About the Watch pressing them to send more men to the Wall, or rumours about the Others just on the other side.

_You are my partner._

That night Sansa had vowed to bury her head under the furs and just sleep. She would behave herself, for once. She could control herself. Her wanton needs would not govern her will.

But somehow Jon had decided to take that peace away from her yet another night, and images of him naked as his fist pumped his cock, of his full lips parted and gasping for air and his thick curls stuck to his forehead had filled her mind and she found her hand roaming down her belly once more.

She had never seen him naked. Not really.

She remembered one time, after he had been training on the courtyard, that she had followed him to his solar to discuss something she was unable to recall afterwards. She remembered he had taken of his doublet and his shirt to wash himself as she spoke. She remembered how every taut muscle flexed perfectly under his pale skin. She remembered the sharp valley that run along his back, from his neck to the waist of his breeches. And she remembered the thin white lines that marred the beauty of his flesh, a cruel reminder that he too had been betrayed.

He had left for King’s Landing shortly after that.

Sansa closed her eyes, focusing on the grunts on the other room, and imagining he was moaning because of her. Because of her fingers running down his back as he slammed into her, making her forget her own name. After she peaked, she knew she would feel hollow, reminding herself of the cruel reality that she was alone, and Jon was still on the other side of the wall.

Alone.

_You are my partner._

Sansa stopped, scared by her own thoughts.

Was there any reason to fear, really?

She had let Jon decide how they lived their life and so far he had done a terrible job.

Well, perhaps not terrible, but clearly not perfect.

Perhaps it was time for her to step forward. He had taken care of her as best as he knew how, but she needed something more. _He_ clearly needed something more, judging by the noise he was making.

Sansa kicked the furs and stood up. She had to do this right, even though she did not have a clear idea of how to. For a blink of an eye it crossed her mind that she was truly wrecked after all, if she was going to do what she was about to do. But then she had discarded her nightdress and when she had finished fastening the belt of her robe around her waist her decision had been taken. When she undid her braid and let her hair fall down her back she had already forgotten almost every ounce of doubt left.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she crossed the small antechamber that connected both rooms. Sansa tightened the robe around her naked body, not quite sure it had been the cold air that had made her shiver. She thought about knocking on the door, about calling him first, and even though those might have been more sensible options she entered Jon’s room without so much as a word, wishing with all her might that he truly was alone.

He had not heard her.

She wetted her lips and closed her fists at her sides, taking in a long breath.

Jon was glorious.

Perhaps not like those men that had made her sigh as a girl, but just the thought of him- the few petty memories she had of him- had been enough to make her moan into her pillow at night. She was not sure what seeing his lean muscular thighs and the perfect hard curve of his bottom would do to her. And how they flexed, back and forth, as his moans echoed through the stones into her head and down her stomach.

His skin was wrapped up in the thick shadows and the golden light from the candle on his nightstand, his large hand bracing a bedpost. She thought about just staying there, at the door, watching him. Waiting for him to finish without making a sound and then turn around and go to her room.

No.

That would leave everything exactly where it was. That was unacceptable.

With shaky hands Sansa closed the door behind her. Her bare feet almost soared over the floor, without so much as a rush of silk.

She would do this. They had each other. It made no sense for them to be alone. This was just another thing they could help each other with, just like avoiding unwanted suitors or rebuild the castle.

She finally reached him, her palms sweaty as she encircled him within her arms and rested her chin on his shoulder.

Jon jumped, his hands instantly on her wrists as he tried to pull away. She kept her palms against his chest, her fingers gently caressing his skin as she felt his strong heartbeat beneath them.

“Jon” she whispered against his ear, pressing her body to his back.

“Gods, Sansa!” he shrieked, jerking forward as he tried to get away from her.

“Let me help you, Jon” she pleaded, planting light kisses along his jaw, ignoring how tight his grip was on her wrists and how it was starting to get painful. “Please.”

Sansa did not know what had broken him. If her hands, her lips, her words or her breasts pressed against his back. But he had given up all the same, and just as easily as she only hoped he would.

“Go back to your chambers, Sansa” he begged, his grip on her so light she could freely roam her hands up and down his torso.

He was warm and soft and hard, all at once. Like what she had imagined for so long but not quite. And the scars, so many thin lines of tenderer flesh that made him shiver every time her fingers found one of them.

“Do you really want me to go, Jon? Do you despise me so much?” she asked, putting some distance between his body and hers. She would have let go of him, had he not closed his fingers on her wrists again.

“I have to- I do not despise you, Sansa, but I have-“ he said, though the right words seemed to be eluding him.

“What, Jon? I know you are stuck with me and that you deserve something more than a worn out woman-“

“Don’t talk about yourself in those terms ever again” he interrupted, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it. Sansa shivered, surprised by the sharp contrast of the warmth of his gesture with his bleak tone. “You are perfect and I have sworn to protect you. Go back to your bed, Sansa. I will not ask you again.”

“Then don’t” Sansa said, closing her arms around him again and kissing his shoulder. “Don’t tell me to go, Jon. I am here because I choose too. And I do not need protection against myself.”

Jon was tense and solid against her, but he said nothing. Sansa raised her right hand, still cuffed in his fist but not with too much pressure. Like he was trying to convince himself that he had not quite given up. She rested her fingers over his heart and she felt the ugly scar of what must have been the wound that had killed him, tears pooling in her eyes at the thought of his brothers betraying him.

But under the scar she found a strong beating heart.

“Do you think me so weak, Jon? That I cannot take care of myself?”

Sansa knew that was a very basic kind of manipulation. Jon was too kind to ever admit she was so frail she needed someone else to watch over her. And that would be his doom.

He dragged his fingers over the back of her hand and intertwined them with hers, over his heart. His touch sent a warm wave up her arm and flooded her chest.

“You are the strongest person I know, Sansa” he said, in a low voice.

For once, she let herself forget that was not true. She pressed her mouth to his shoulder again.

“I have spent too many nights hearing you through the wall. I think you are just as lonely as I am.”

“I am so sorry, I never wished to make you feel-“ he blurted out, clutching her fingers.

“I know ours is not a marriage for love,” she continued, as if she had not listened to him. “But let me take care of you. Let me take care of my husband.”

Jon finally- _finally!_ \- let his arms fall at his sides.

Sansa could not smile at that small victory, too busy gulping and panicking. What, now?

She had heard other women whispering about what they did with their lovers. How they used their hands or their mouths to please them. But that did not mean Sansa had learned exactly how.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. She had taken upon herself to come to Jon’s chamber that night. Her virtue had long been stolen by that monster and his horrible deeds. She had been married thrice already. To Jon for about six moons already. And yet she felt like a blushing, inexperienced bride.

Perhaps she was, after all.

What _he_ had done to her did not count. She had not chosen it.

This. This she had chosen.

“Sansa?” Jon called, turning his face to look at her.

That was wrong. If they did not look on each other’s eyes Jon could pretend she was someone else. Come morning, she could pretend it never happened. If he saw her then it was real.

Sansa took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She could not bear the sight of his warm eyes or his inviting mouth. She would not kiss him. Kissing would lead to dreaming about impossible things, and that too was unacceptable.

“Show me” she asked, kissing his jaw instead, marvelling at the sharp feel of his beard on her skin, her hands roaming down his stomach still unsure if they should reach lower or if it was too soon.

Jon sighed, relaxing in her arms as he took hold of her right wrist again. Sansa left a trail of wet kisses down his neck and along his shoulder, too happy that he had caved in. She knew he was stubborn, and an honourable men. But she could be just as obstinate, and even honourable men had needs. _She_ had her needs just as well.

He gently kissed the back of her hand, each fingertip, her palm. She shivered, and something in her mind fell into place and made her understand that perhaps this was more serious than she had planned.

Because it was Jon, after all. Not some stable boy from whom she could steal a fleeting kiss.

Jon.

And he cared for her, and she cared for him. What they were about to do might change everything.

Sansa hoped it changed something.

“Can I-“ he said, his voice almost inaudible.

“What?” she asked, frowning.

“Can I lick your hand?”

She felt her blood climb to her face and her heart start to race in her chest.

“What for?” Sansa almost shrieked.

“I- I’m sorry, it’s just… It feels better.”

Why, why, why on earth was this so awkward? It surely had looked better in her head. Or perhaps she had not thought about it long enough or thoroughly enough. But then again, she just did not know. She could not know.

“All right.” After all, if someone knew what they were doing it had to be Jon.

She felt his hot tongue tickle her palm and she bit her lip to hold back a giggle. He swirled it around her fingers, then took two of them inside his mouth and she did not feel like laughing anymore. A thick warmth pooled between her thighs as she imagined kissing Jon’s mouth and how his lips would taste if she sucked on them or how his tongue might feel dancing with hers.

She became aware she was panting already. And that she would need to go back to her room as soon as he had finished or she would go mad.

When he was satisfied with his work he planted one final kiss to her knuckles and slowly guided her hand down.

“I don’t have to do this, Sansa.”

Jon was offering her one last chance to go.

“You don’t want me to?”

His fist was still around her wrist, hovering over his lower stomach. Yet, he said nothing, his muscles tensing against her.

“I will go if you don’t want me to touch you, Jon. But that is the only reason I would go, so don’t lie to me” she demanded, raising her head and lifting her chin as if he could see her.

Without a word, he guided her fingers lower and wrapped them around his shaft. He threw his head back, a low growl escaping his lips as she squeezed tentatively.

Her eyes widened and she let her mouth fall agape, and thanked the gods that he could not see her face. How could something be so hard and soft at the same time?

Jon led her hand up and down his cock, slower than she had expected he would. She preferred it that way. If this was all she had then it might as well last a little longer so she could savour it and then relive it on lonely nights.

Another groan from Jon, just like those she was used to hear but so much sweeter now that she was so near him. A hot wave washed through Sansa’s body and she could feel her cunt dampening. If she was not so focused on his release perhaps she could have searched her own and end part of her torment.

Jon let go of her wrist, letting her continue on her own. He was getting harder and thicker, even though Sansa thought that would not be possible. She had heard one of her maids whispering that she actually enjoyed lying with her lover, having his cock inside her, but Sansa highly doubt it. How could it be anything less than excruciating?

“Am I doing this right?” she asked, when he started to thrust into her fist.

He gave a long sigh, as if he had just woken up from a deep slumber.

“It’s wonderful, Sansa” he panted, reaching for the hand resting on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You are wonderful. I’ve- I’ve thought about it. For so long.”

She stopped, and she found out she had lost her voice.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t think- You must find me disgusting, I’m sorry” he mumbled, trying to turn around again.

Sansa did not let him, resuming her motion instead, although faster and with more pressure this time, as her head soared above her.

“Then I am disgusting too, for I have spent too many nights doing the same” she whispered in his ear.

He snapped his hips forward and with a low grunt his thick seed was spurting to the floor, his cock pulsing under her fingers as his chest heaved uncontrollably.

“Don’t stop” he begged, and she continued pumping his cock until she was positive she had dried him out. Only then did he took her hand away, his strong body still trembling against her.

Sansa was not sure if the sweat damping her body was his or hers, but she knew her heart was not steadier than Jon’s.

Now that had been something she would not easily forget.

She tried to take a step back, having decided that he was now satisfied enough and it was time to take care of herself. But Jon was faster, taking the belt of her robe and pulling her to his chest, his solid arms encasing her there as he hid his face on her hair.

Tears filled her eyes, as she snaked her arms around him. After Littlefinger's death that was the first time he had hugged her properly.

“Thank you” he mumbled, running his fingers through her hair.

She did not know how long she stayed like that, listening to his heartbeat and holding back her tears. She had come to his room just to show him there was no point in him keeping her away from his bed. To show him she was a woman, and one that slept just a wall away. And yet, she had not needed take off her robe as she had planned, and she surely had found more than what she had hoped for.

There was something more, beneath the care of a man whom had been her brother. Beneath the base needs that kept both of them awake at night. If he had ripped her clothes off and pushed her against the wall to fuck her senseless she would have been less shocked. That sort of behaviour did not shock her anymore.

“Can you show me, now?” he asked, his mouth now closer to her ear.

She blinked, wishing she could clear her ears the same way she had her eyes.

“Sansa?” Jon called again, his croaky voice tickling the hairs at the base of her head. “Please.”

Sansa liked that word. She had never imagined it would make her feel as dizzy as summer wine.

And brave. Braver than she ever thought she could be.

She gently pushed him away, her eyes to the floor. If she looked at him she would be mortified.

“I ruined your robe” he pointed out.

She looked down, saw the white spot on her left hip and shrugged.

“I have another. One I like better, actually.”

“I’m sorry. I should have cleaned myself first.”

“Don’t be. I’ll just throw it away. See?”

Sansa lifted her eyes as her fingers undid the knot at her waist. He gulped as she let her only piece of clothing drain to the floor. She took a deep breath and sat on the edge of his bed, the thought of being there making her even wetter.

She was mad. She was mad, after all.

Jon stood in his spot, his mouth agape and his body taut as a bow string as he opened and closed his fists at his sides.

“Jon?” she called him.

Reminding himself of his purpose, Jon run his hand through his hair and shook his head. He then took the chair by the fire and sat in front of her, without taking the effort to at least pick his breeches from the floor.

Sansa’s face felt as if she had dipped it in scalding water.

“Show me, Sansa.”

His voice did deliciously wicked things to her. She doubted it would take more than a couple of strokes from her fingers to reach her release.

Sansa bit her lip, acutely aware that she was completely bare in front of him, her knees firmly pressed together as she forced herself to keep her hands on the mattress and not in front of her chest. His wide, dark eyes roamed up and down her body, as if he could not decide where to look exactly.

He looked into her eyes, though, when he leaned forward and took hold of her ankle, his warm fingers sending the now somewhat familiar hot wave up her spine. If she had known it would feel like this she would have crossed his door long ago.

“Please” he begged, leaving her foot on his knee and drawing small circles with his thumb on her ankle.

She leaned back, as she always did, and lowered her hand through her stomach, closing her eyes.

“Can I- Can I look at you?” Jon asked.

Sansa propped herself on her elbow, frowning.

He was nervous. Perhaps a little too nervous for someone far more experienced than her. Or so they said.

“Is everything all right?” she whispered.

He pressed a wet kiss to her knee.

“More than all right. You are perfect” he said, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world. “I just want to see you, that’s all.”

The time for pretending Sansa would forget about this in the morning had passed. That was a dangerous thing, remembering her night in pure daylight. She could barely look at Jon knowing she touched herself thinking about him. She was not sure how she would look at him the next morning.

She nodded, sliding her fingers between her folds.

That was not how Sansa had imagined it in her head, but still it had been an improvement. Her first moan passed her lips as she found the small bud, Jon’s eyes locked on hers. His thumb caressed her ankle reassuringly as she curled her toes over his thigh.

The wet noises her fingers made mixed with both their panting breaths were driving her insane. That and the look of pure awe in Jon’s face. Gods, she was so close already! She could feel the tension forming low in her belly and in the back of her head. And the only thing she could think about were Jon’s full lips, beautifully parted, and his wide grey eyes now fixed on her cunt.

Before she could really thing about it, Sansa sat up and pressed her lips to his, burying her fingers on his thick curls. Her face was scalding hot, but something deep inside hummed with satisfaction.

He did not move. Not for a heartbeat. Nor two.

Sansa started to panic. She had gone too fast, had been too eager, and she loathed herself for not following her own plan.

She heard a low grown, one that resonated through her bones, and for a moment she was not aware it had not been forged by her own throat. Jon brought his hand to the back of her neck, his mouth finally moving against hers, and she realised her rules were not that important after all.

His lips were just as soft and sweet as she had imagined and yet like none she had ever tasted. It was like waiting moon after moon for those lemons from the south so she could finally have her sweet cakes.

No. Not quite.

It was something deeper and far more fascinating.

How could someone hold back their own desires for someone sleeping just on the other side of a thin wall for so long? And how could someone pretend this longing was not there?

Jon’s tongue caressed her lip and Sansa opened her mouth, not caring if that might make her seem desperate. She was. She needed him more than anything in this world. If this night was all they had then it would break her. It would hurt her far more than anything they had done to her before. It was one thing to be tortured when one expected nothing but the worst. But when one dreamt and yearned… That was another matter entirely.

His hand remained carefully at the back of her head, the other still at her ankle as his tongue danced against hers, making her moan into his mouth, happily exploring every last recess of it.

But she needed more, so much more. Like kissing him had only added to the fire deep inside her instead of calming it as she had expected. She wanted his large fingers on her instead of her own. She wanted to feel his warm flesh against her skin again, to explore every valley and every plain of his body. To bury her face on the crook of his neck as she peaked and screamed his name.

“Jon” she sighed against his mouth when he rested his forehead against hers, both of them gasping for air.

“I’ve thought about this too, you know?” he whispered, a half smile on his lips as he run his thumb along her cheekbone.

She pressed a soft kiss to his now swollen lips, more perfect than ever, her heart jumping happily under her ribs.

Why had they done this to themselves? Why had they lied to and tricked each other? Why had they wasted so much precious time?

“Touch me, Jon. Touch me or I swear I will go mad” Sansa begged, covering the hand on her face with hers.

He gave a long sigh.

“I think I prefer kissing you a little longer. Can I?” he asked, his eyes so tender she could not find in herself the will to say no, even if she wanted to.

She nodded, closing her eyes and offering her lips to him again.

Instead, his lips found that spot where her ear and her jaw met, somewhat disappointing her.

“Can I kiss you here?” he asked, his hand dipping in her tresses again, his short nails scratching her scalp and making her shiver.

Her breath got caught on her throat.

“Yes” she managed to say.

He dragged his lips along her neck and then gently sucked on her pulse.

This time she had to open her mouth to breath.

“And here?”

She nodded.

Jon raised his eyes to her, waiting to hear a proper answer.

“Yes”

She could swear she saw a smirk on his face just before he buried it on her neck again.

His hand glided down her spine, then around her waist, his mouth too busy sucking and licking and taking the breath from her lungs.

She threw her head back as she felt his hand cup one of her breasts, the hand on her ankle now gently pressing against her belly to prompt her to lay down again.

“And here, Sansa? Can I kiss you here?” he requested in a rougher voice, his thumb circling her nipple and eliciting a gasp from her. Yet his eyebrows were knitted together, his eyes filled with something more than just pure lust.

Concern.

Sansa nodded again. She would let him do anything, as long as it gave her some peace.

His hot, wet mouth covered her breast and she thought she would combust. His tongue flicked around her nipple, turning it so hard it was almost painful, as his hand busied itself with the other breast. She pressed her chest against him and dug her hand on the mattress for leverage as he kept on kissing her breast the same way he had done to her mouth.

Jon would be the death of her. But what a wonderful way to die it would be.

“Jon” she gasped, her nails sinking into his scalp as she felt like it was too much to bear and yet not enough.

His groan resounded through her body.

“Jon” Sansa begged again, pulling at his curls.

Jon pulled away from her, his eyes so dark she could almost forget what colour they usually were, his face redder and shinier than she had ever seen. And then a wide smile spread on his lips. It was the first time she had seen him smile in such a long time, and it was beautiful.

“I like how it sounds when you say it” he said, pressing his hand against her belly and pushing her down gently.

“Jon” she whispered again, reaching under her neck to pull her hair up and spreading it over Jon’s pillow.

She wanted to purr her delight on his ears at the thought. After waiting so long, she was finally on Jon’s bed. Naked. With a very naked Jon looking at her as if he had been struck by lightning, his mouth adorably open as his eyes fought desperately to take as much of her in as possible.

“And here?” he asked, kneeling on the mattress between her parted legs and dragging a finger across her belly. “Maybe you won’t let me kiss you here.”

“I will, Jon. I will let you kiss me anywhere you want” she confessed, intertwining her fingers with his.

He leaned down, his lips stopping a hair from her skin.

“Do you want me to? If you don’t-”

“I will kill you if you don’t, Jon” she growled, hooking her leg around his hip.

He was hard again. Harder than she thought a man could be so soon after peaking. She smirked, satisfied to know it was because of her.

Jon pressed his mouth to Sansa’s stomach, his teeth dragging over her hip and making her buck against him before she could avoid it.

“Do you want me to kiss you here too?” he asked, dipping his fingers between her thighs.

Sansa arched her body against his touch. Gods, she needed him so much!

She blushed, aware she was dripping and that she must have soaked his hand. He seemed unbothered, though, not even caring enough to raise his head from her lower belly as his lips continued their path lower and lower.

“You don’t have to do that” she blurted out.

It would be disgusting, to say the least. She could not let him do it.

Certainly no one did that sort of thing. Well, she knew some women gave pleasure to their lovers with their mouths, but Sansa doubted those same women did not feel repulsed. But then she remembered holding Jon’s cock in her hand and how it could not have been farthest away from revolting.

Well, at least men did not do that sort of-

“I want to” Jon explained, his hand leaving her folds and gently stroking her thigh. There was that strange look on his face again. “Will you let me? It will feel good. I guess. And I’ll stop if you ask me.”

Sansa draped her arm over her head, taking a long breath.

She nodded.

He planted both his hands on her thighs, slowly spreading them. She felt his fingers parting her folds and then something wet and warm tentatively stroking her nub. Her hips jerked against his mouth, a loud cry escaping her lips.

“Shhh…” Jon hushed her, a large hand at her hip holding her in place.

Jon must think she was ridiculous. A used and then discarded woman and yet so unexperienced.

Good for nothing, after all.

“I’m- I’m sorry” she mumbled, pressing her arm against her eyes until she saw stars and colourful whirlwinds behind her eyelids.

“Don’t” Jon said, the same firm tone he used to command his men. She let go the breath she had not been aware she was holding. He pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, the scratch of his beard on her sensitive skin making her shiver. “Look at me, Sansa.”

She felt his body move over her and his hand taking hold of her elbow, pushing it away from her face.

“Did I hurt you? Do you want me to stop?” he asked again.

“I- I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong. I know- I know nothing. I will disappoint you” she babbled, looking at the ceiling.

“Look at me.”

She obeyed.

Why were his lips so terribly plump and red and kissable? And why was she loosing time with her foolish doubts when she could be enjoying those same lips sucking on her until she came undone and forgot her own name?

“You are perfect, Sansa. And every gasp, every touch, the way you call my name- It’s something not even my best dreams have given me” he confessed, his hand moving from her elbow to brush a curl from her forehead. “But do you want me to stop? It’s fine. Everything will be fine if you do”

“Don’t stop” she whispered.

“It’s fine, Sansa, I won’t be mad-“

“It felt good, Jon” she cut him, cupping his cheek and trying to show him that she really wanted it.

Actually, she would combust if he did not do it. Kiss her cunt, or touch it, or whatever it was he was about to do. Just as long as it was _something_.

He smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead before descending again to her belly.

This time he held her in place as his lips found her cunt, gently sucking on her nub as he flicked his tongue over it. She buried both her hands on his thick hair, desperate to hold on to something, his dark eyes merely peaking over her belly fixed on hers as he lapped at her like a thirsty man.

Sansa moaned so loudly she was certain the whole castle was awake by then, her hips gyrating frantically against Jon’s tongue as she chased her peak, already too close to let go. Jon eased two fingers inside of her, his mouth still working her nub, and when he curled them up the pressure building in her spine finally released itself, a high pitched cry echoing through the chamber’s walls, her mind unable to find something else besides Jon’s mouth.

He kept on licking every last drop of her until it was almost painful and she had to push him away. Jon cleaned his glistening face with the back of his hand, making her blush again, and with a huge grin on his face and a small chuckle he rested his head between her breasts.

Winter could have come and gone while they stayed there, Sansa's fingers slowly kneading Jon’s hair as he held her to him by the waist, his nose gently nuzzling the side of her breast.

“Well, that was quite something” she sighed, breaking the silence when her conscience finally returned to her body and she gained control of her breath again.

“Good?” he asked, his eyebrows raised and his eyes desperate for approval.

“Oh, my dear, I think ‘good’ doesn’t even begin to describe it” she jested, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. He smiled, leaning into her touch.

“We’re fools” he decreed, burying his head on her chest again, his voice muffled by her flesh. “Well, I am a fool.”

“I was about to correct you” Sansa said, arching a brow. “At least _I_ came here. You were ignoring me for moons. Why was that?”

“I was afraid.”

“Of me? It’s just me, Jon” she scoffed, shrugging.

“Right, it’s _just_ you. And you are _just_ so beautiful, so witty, so brave. So pure” he murmured, the last word making her frown. Yet, Sansa said nothing. “And I was thinking about all the filthy things I would do to you if you would let me. And that angered me. To be so selfish and wretched, after everything- After everything you have fought against.”

“And you are King, Jon” she said, trying to stir him away from that particular topic as she threaded her fingers through his hair again. She could do this all night, if he let her. “My King.”

“I am not your King” he corrected, hastily, raising his head from her belly. “I am not worthy of that title.”

“My partner, then” she conceded, starting to sit up. He rolled over on his back. “You are still hard.”

“I… I… It doesn’t matter” Jon babbled, looking at his disagreeing cock, then at her.

Sansa leaned over him, her lips mere inches from his.

She had come this far. What point was there on leaving now?

“Show me.”

It was her time to command, again.

He gulped, his face redder than she had ever seen it.

“Show you what?” he questioned, running his hand up and down her spine.

Sansa hid her face on his neck, pressing her lips to his ear.

“How to do to you what you just did to me” she purred. “Show me, Jon.”

Sansa slid her hand between them along his stomach, the lean muscles jumping under her touch as his cock throbbed insistently against her hip. He open his mouth, as if to say something, but his breath caught in his throat as soon as her fingers found his shaft.

“Can I-“ he grabbed her shoulders and gave her a gentle push.

She raised an eyebrow at him, stopping herself. What was she doing wrong now?

“I think I would enjoy that very much, but perhaps- I don’t think I will be ready again anytime soon after that” he explained, rather poorly on her opinion.

Sansa frowned, her heart sinking on her chest. How clueless could she be, after all?

“Can I ask you something? I mean, I know- I am aware it must be difficult for you, but considering-“

“Just spit it out, Jon!” she demanded, sitting on his belly and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Will you have me inside of you?” he blurted out, screwing his eyes shut and flinching.

She leaned down and caught his lower lip between hers, sucking hungrily, not caring if she might taste herself there or not. He groaned against her mouth before his hands trailed down her back to cup her buttocks, and he did not seem to bother with those insignificant matters either.

She had wished it for so long. So many lonely nights, hearing him on the other side, wishing it was him touching her, imagining how he looked under all the heavy clothes he wore.

And yet, that he asked everything with such care, fearing her every reaction, almost broke her heart. No man had ever cared for her at least half of what Jon had shown he did that night. And then he said those stupid things about him not being worthy. He was worthy of all he had and so much more.

The whole of Westeros, the moon and the sun itself. A good, loving wife, when he was stuck with her. Although, looking at his wide eyes and judging by how hard he was she doubted he felt stuck.

And she could be a good loving wife. For him she could.

“Did you think I would strike you?” she asked when they parted, wide eyed.

“I would have struck myself if I could. I know it is a selfish thing to ask” he explained, frowning again and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I should strike you for still doubting I want you” Sansa said, rolling her eyes and jumping out of bed before she lost her courage.

It had never been pleasant for her. Not even once. _He_ had always made sure it was not. It had never been painless either. But Jon could never hurt her, and after what he had done with his mouth she had started to think that perhaps she could enjoy other parts of him as well.

He did not move, his mouth agape as he dug his elbows on the mattress to sit up.

“Now, should I bend over?” she asked, her knees trembling twice as much as her voice.

“Sansa…” he choked out, and there was such sadness on his face that she let her shoulders fall.

“Well, I’m sorry, I know I’m not a maiden anymore, but although _he_ ruined me he didn’t exactly taught me-“ she screeched, crossing her arms again and sounding just like Arya in her head.

Jon pulled her by the hand and crushed her to his chest before she could finish the sentence.

“You’re not ruined, my love. They were ruined and foul, but you are not” he roared against her hair.

If she had had more tears to cry about that subject she could have shed a couple then. But his naked, warm body against her, around her, under her, had pushed it all away. There it was, the pull of desire low in her belly, the dampness between her thighs, her hard nipples grazing his chest making her want to bury his face there again and scream his name until her throat broke in two.

“It’s just… I should know how to lay with a men, you know? And I do not” she whispered against his neck.

He smelled so good. Like fresh soap and hearth. And then something she could not quite name, but that made her know he had entered the same room she was before she looked at him.

“I don’t think what he did to you counts as such” he said, flatly. “It’s late, we should sleep.”

Her stomach sank as he released her. But yet again Jon’s cock betrayed him.

“No.” she said, resting her hands on his hips, hoping that would show him her determination. “I don’t want to sleep. I want to do this. With you. Just tell me what to do.”

He said nothing, looking down at his belly.

“Come on, Jon!” she begged, taking his hand between hers and pressing his palm to her lips. “I’m assuming from behind it’s not the right way, tell me what to do, then.”

“It’s not- It can-“ he babbled. “Anyway can be the right way, really. I guess.”

Anyway? How many ways were there?

But that ache between her legs was making it impossible for Sansa to dwell on the possibilities.

“We could try that, perhaps another time” he suggested, lifting his eyes to her and looking down again. “If that is something you would like, I mean. But right now it’s not the _best_ way.”

 _Another time_.

That sounded better than her best wishes.

She circled his neck with her arms and pulled him to a fiery kiss. It was amazing. He was amazing. And this was not the end for them. This was not just a single night. There would be at least another and that had set her very soul aflame with the same hope she had been trying to avoid since she had crossed his door.

A large hand covered her breast and his thumb scraped her nipple until it was at least as hard as his erection pressing against her belly, his tongue freely exploring her mouth and making her dizzy. But she needed more. She needed so much more.

She pressed her palms to his chest, pushing him away.

“Tell me what to do, Jon”

His breath was ragged, his eyes heavy and dark as he rested his hand on the back of her knee and threw her leg over his hip, a half reassuring smile playing on his lips. His hand climbed up her thigh then, his short nails scraping her skin and sending a small jolt of pleasure up her spine. His fingers found her folds again, and he started to stroke her bud just like he had done before.

Sansa gasped.

“I- I thought-“ she mumbled, founding out he had taken her ability to speak. “I thought you had-  Had already done that.”

“You are not ready yet.”

“Yes I am” she panted. “I already told you-“

“You are not wet enough, Sansa. And I don’t want to hurt you” he explained, easing a finger inside her as his thumb kept its work on her nub.

She would peak soon. She would peak without him inside of her.

Jon slid another finger, and started to pump them, making her forget her own name as a loud cry escaped her lips.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, and although he should have sounded concerned the only thing she had found in his voice had been lust and need.

“Don’t stop!” she growled, taking his wrist in her hand to impose her own rhythm. She did not want to find her release like that but something inside of her was burning desperately and she needed to find some peace.

He parted his fingers inside of her, as if he was trying to stretch her, to make her wider. But all she could think about was his thumb on that place she had rubbed herself so many nights, alone in her room, thinking about him.

And then he was gone.

“Jon…” she whimpered, kicking herself for drowning in her own pleasure and forgetting to hold his wrist properly.

Jon ignored her, sitting up instead.

“Come here” he called, taking her hand and gently pulling her to his lap.

Her arms went again to his neck, her heart pounding in her chest, fear and need crashing together beneath her ribs.

“Is this the right way, then?” she joked, trying to forget her own qualms on that matter.

“It will hurt you less. And you have more control” he said, his hands already on her hips, pulling her to him.

It had been a foolish question. With him it could be nothing but the right way. Although more control was something she could certainly get used to.

Jon bent his knees up so she could rest her back against his thighs. That felt comfortable enough. So far everything was fine.

He brought her hand to his cock and her mouth went dry.

Even if she was ready _that_ would surely hurt.

He hissed as soon as she wrapped her fingers around him, his hands digging on her hips again as he threw his head back. He was beautiful, just glorious, like that. She took it as sign to continue and moved her hand down his length.

“Don’t… Don’t do that” he panted, taking hold of her wrist again. “You have to…”

She looked down at his erection, then to his eyes again, the pieces falling together inside her head.

“Ride it?” she tried, raising herself above him on her knees.

“Yes. Yes, just like that” he gasped as she stroked her entrance with the head of his cock. “Hold on to my shoulder. It will be easier.”

Sansa took his advice, supporting her weight on him as she slowly lowered herself, biting her lip as she awaited the excruciating pain. It had been one thing to wrap her fingers around him, but she could barely fit two of her fingers on her cunt when she touched herself. And he was too thick, certainly it would not fit inside her.

But she would not cry. She would not scare him.

And yet, when his head was fully sheathed inside her, she felt nothing besides a slight sting that could hardly be described as completely unpleasant. He panted in time with her, and she knew he felt it too. It was tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her shudder.

She dared to lower herself even further, this time the feel of him hot and thick inside her, stretching her cunt, making her bury her face on the crook of his neck to muffle the low growl that somehow had come from her.

“Sansa?” he called, stroking her hair, his hoarse voice sending a shiver down her spine, his careful tone completely disagreeing with his bruising hand on her waist. “Are you all right? Am I hurting you?”

“You don’t know how good you feel, my love, do you?” she purred against his skin, leisurely taking in every inch that was left of him, moaning again. That sweet torture! How had she lived without it for so long?

He groaned too, the hand on her hair sinking between her locks and carefully holding the back of her head.

This had to be the right way, then.

And yet there was something missing. This could not be all. When he had used his fingers it had felt so good.

“Jon?”

She kissed his tense jaw, noticing his pursed lips and the deep frown on his forehead.

“Hmm?” he grunted, his fingers massaging her scalp. That was almost as good as his cock inside her.

“Move, please.”

She kissed him, just before he gingerly trusted up, his luscious mouth swallowing her whimpers as the snap of his hips took her by surprised and she crashed her nose against his cheekbone.

He made a sound between a chuckle and a growl, the hand on her head cupping her cheek and stroking it.

“It’s fine, don’t worry” Jon said with a half-smile. “Gods, Sansa, you are amazing!”

She felt her face burn, but either from embarrassment, delight or just pure lust she could not tell.

His hand on her hip encouraged her to move around him, and every once in a while his cock touched just the right spot, his smile fading from his lips as Sansa arched her back, ensuring he never missed that particular point deep in her cunt. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed with pleasure, too glad she had come to him, too glad she could finally feel his strong hands on her, too glad he was so gentle and patient that they could both enjoy this.

Jon took the chance to cup one of her breast, his tongue following just a heartbeat later, swirling around her nipple and making Sansa tense her muscles in surprise.

“Oh!” he groaned against her flesh, his hand on the other breast squeezing a little harsher than before.

“Oh, Jon, I’m so, so sorry!” she apologized, covering her mouth with her hand as she realised she had clenched around him and that it probably had hurt.

Could she do anything right?

“No, no, my love” he gasped, raising his head and planting a sloppy kiss on her lips, his eyelids too heavy to open. “You feel so good, Sansa. And that felt good too. Too good, actually. You almost made me spill like a greenboy.”

“Is that a problem?” she asked, both her hands on his shoulders as she clamped him again, this time on purpose.

Jon growled and dug his teeth on her pulse.

It should have hurt, she should have cried. Instead, it sent a jolt of pleasure right to where their bodies met, and she knew she had been ruined for good. That she was wicked, and sick, but if it gave her that kind of satisfaction then she would be more than glad to accept her fate. If that meant she could have him any time she wished then she would sell her soul and more.

“Stop or I won’t be able to hold myself back” he demanded, his voice dangerously low as his fingers found her bud and rubbed hastily as he continued to thrust up inside her.

“Then don’t” Sansa dared, biting his lip.

She could get used to that.

_Another time._

Perhaps this could become a nightly thing. Wouldn’t it be lovely?

She tried to match the unrelenting movement of his hips, the sounds of wet flesh against wet flesh filling the stone walls and perhaps the ears of those who might be just outside their chambers. But Sansa did not mind. She had heard him too many nights, she had the right to enjoy him now.

She was became a sobbing mess, bright white lights before her eyes, her body arched back and her mouth wide open as her walls fluttered around Jon’s cock, his fingers still stroking her mercilessly. She shivered, her hips snapping against his to their own accord.

“Jon. Jon!” she cried, again and again until she thought her throat would split in two.

“I’m about-“ Jon warned, his hands on her hips pulling her up this time, away from him.

“Do it, Jon!” she rumbled with such fire she almost did not recognise her voice.

With a long low grunt, something more beastly than human, really, and a couple powerful thrusts, Jon’s hot seed filled her, her cunt milking him to the last drop.

She sagged against him, her mouth kissing every last bit of his salty skin she could find, asking herself why she had not come to him before.

“Sansa” he babbled, slouching down to the mattress and taking her with him. “Sweet, sweet Sansa”

She nestled her head on his chest, listening to his fast heartbeat even out, his skin damp against her. She could feel her own hair clinging to her forehead, so perhaps they were both a mess.

But it did not matter. She felt drained, her head too light and yet so heavy. She needed a good night’s sleep. Perhaps that was the cure for her nightly troubles. A good fuck and then her deserved rest. And if she had Jon to warm her bed, the better.

He run his fingertips up and down her now cool flesh, his other hand covering both of them with the furs crumpled on one side of the bed.

“I’m so sorry” Jon whispered, planting a soft kiss to her forehead.

“For what?” she grumbled, her voice muffled by his solid body. His chest and his stomach were so hard, compared to the soft flesh of her breasts, uncomfortably crushed between them. But she would not move. She did not have the strength to do so.

“For not being gentler.”

That nonsense again then. That nonsense that would end up bringing tears to her eyes, reminding her that perhaps the normal one was Jon and she had nothing to compare him to.

“You were perfect, my love” she promised him, raising her head and brushing a stray curl stuck to his forehead. He had never looked more handsome to her than in that moment, exhausted, dishevelled and naked under her.

“Will my lady wife let me in her chambers tomorrow night, then?” he tried, smiling impishly.

She started to draw small circles over his heart, pretending to think about the subject. Over one of the scars there. A voice in her head told her that perhaps that had been the one to kill him, but she smothered it.

“I don’t know, my lord husband” she teased, her eyes following her fingers. “Tomorrow seems so far away.”

He flipped them over, his weight on one of his elbows as he covered her neck with wet kisses, his hand fondling her breast again.

“Is this the right way, then? Or just another way?” she asked him, caging him with her thighs and giggling.

“Just another one. Do you want me to show it to you as well?” he offered, and then she was awake again. Although if this was what would keep her awake at night then she would gladly renounce her sleep.

“Now tell me, is this what they teach on the Watch?” she jested, his mouth sucking on her breast now as she arched her back to press against him. “Because if that’s the case I’m starting to understand why you wanted to go so much.”

“They don’t. But does it matter?”

No.

It did not.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, yes, they are in love and all that, it just didn't sounded right for them to say it just yet. As usual, thank you so much for comments, hits and kudos. Please tell me if there is anything wrong. And feel free to message me on tumblr (@why-cant-i-be-careless) because I'm biting my nails about this two and those awful trailers that got me not knowing what to expect exactly.  
> PS: I graduated, got the scholarship and am now studying for the speciality exam (I don't know if that's something they do like worldwide or something, but on this side of the Pyrenees they do and I can't actually "work" until I pass it and it will be 9 months of studying 8h/day, 6 days/week - if this is at least half of what parents-to-be feel like then extra kudos to you all) Anyway, I'll try to update the other series as soon as possible.  
> Thank you so much for your love! <3


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